


Tripwire

by d__T



Series: The Afternoon Light Cuts to Size [3]
Category: Blood Drive (TV)
Genre: Car Accidents, Feelings, Miscommunication, Slink is a self centered bastard, canon compliant character death (I guess), interpersonal violence, pre Rasher/Julian, surprise pov switch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2019-03-20 13:50:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13719039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/d__T/pseuds/d__T
Summary: Slink dies and Rasher has an opinion about that.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> chronology: season 1

Rasher is abruptly woken by Greg the A/V tech yelling and kicking his leg. The interruption to his exhaustion nap is unwelcome, and even more so when he manages to blearily focus on the video feed monitors Greg is desperately gesturing at.

Two of the monitors have static images; the forward view from vehicles parked and looking back down the road. The red Pacer, belonging to Julian Slink, Master of Ceremonies and Blood Drive contestant, is deep into the frame when a steel cable stretched across the road appears in focus.

The Pacer eats the cable just above the bumper, abruptly knuckling under and flinging ass over tail and out of the camera views. Rasher finds the interior view just as the Pacer pancakes onto its roof and Slink crumples with it.

There’s an extended pause while everything waits for the Pacer to stop sliding and then the characteristic sound of car doors slamming shut before several pairs of boots walk into the Pacer’s forward view.

Slink is not moving. He’s not moving in a way that looks irrevocably broken.

Rasher feels sick. This isn’t just an accident, there’s no secret to Slink’s status in the show; this is an execution.

The driver’s side door scraped open. Slink lolls out, liquid and compliant, into the gloved hands waiting for him. And then he’s gone, dragged out of view.

Rasher sits and watches the six unmoving frames until Greg asks, “Boss? What do we do now?”

Rasher slowly collapses forward until his head rests on the edge of the console. His mind is already desperately spinning ahead on how to manage this. “He said to keep going if he died. He-”

Greg cautiously pats his shoulder. “Sorry.”

“ID those teams for me, yeah?” Rasher is slightly muffled from speaking directly into the console.

“Anyone comes looking for me or Slink, you tell them to do their fucking job.” Rasher peels himself off the console.

“Where are you going?”

“Wrecker. Gotta bring the car in.”

“Be careful, Boss. They could be going for you too.”

“See ya, Greg.


	2. Chapter 2

The drive to the wreck is only about an hour, but it really takes a perceptual eternity plus about 15 seconds. The whole way there Rasher is expecting the same ambush. They know the wrecker will be coming to retrieve the carnage; why not just decapitate the whole of Blood Drive? Nice and clean.

It’s not better than circling on the  _ what now _ thoughts.

 

\---

 

There’s no body. There never is- too valuable for fuel.

The Pacer is lying in the middle of the road like a flipped turtle. Other than the fresh smear of blood drooling out of the cabin and across the pavement, there is little to indicate that this wreck is from today instead of the riots 20 years back.

The smear ends in a bloom- there was either a struggle or a thrashing. Rasher hopes that Slink was already dead before they started in on him.

But meditating on the smear that’s left of his boss won’t get him anywhere, so he goes to load the Pacer onto the wrecker.

 

\---

 

Race policy is to retrieve any dead racer’s body, their car, and any personal effects. It’s ostensibly for the next of kin but in practice there’s never a body, the personal effects are picked over within the house, and Heart Enterprises wants its engine back. The mechs can pull an engine from a carcass in an hour.

Rasher doesn’t know much about Slink, but he knows there’s no next of kin.

He can’t give the order to pull the engine. It’s too soon.

The mechs might do it anyway.


	3. Chapter 3

Rasher goes to Slink’s trailer, hoping for the inspiration or charisma to deal with taking on Slink’s evening antics. He operates out of sight, preferentially, and this is everything he hates: the audience looking back at him and judging him for his ability to create their world.

The trailer door  _ should _ be locked, but it instead opens easily when he pulls the latch. Immediately wary, Rasher slides through the door and surveys the small quarters.

Nothing unusual, except Slink appears to be sitting at his desk and Rasher is wondering if the horrorshow has finally made him lose his fucking mind.

“Thanks for retrieving my car.” Slink says, rubbing the back of his neck with a pained expression.

Rasher thinks about the two circular scars he’d seen on the back of Slink’s neck once, usually hidden by his jacket collar. Like he was hung from meat hooks. He sneers. “Race policy, asshole. Who the fuck are you.”

Slink spreads his hands, offended. “What, you don’t recognize me? I didn't think I’d changed that much.”

“I watched you  **die** .”

“Clearly it didn’t take.” Slink stands and moves towards Rasher, a move that would be placating when done by anyone else.

“From the marks, they kicked you to death! So  _ why _ -” Rasher stops to inhale. Slink looks like he did three weeks go; a little less hungry and tired, a little better shaven. Not the look of a man just recently murdered. Rasher growls and backhands him, forcing him to yelp and skip back. “You make me do all that contingency planning. For what?”

“I  _ said _ I’d be fine.” Slink insists.

“And you don’t tell me you come back to life some kind of god damn puppet. Like  _ maybe _ that’s pertinent information that you should  _ fucking tell me _ .” Rasher hits Slink in the chest, punctuating each word.

Slink latches onto Rasher’s hands and valiantly resists his flailing. “Thought you’d be happy to see me.”

“Absolutely fucking ecstatic, fuck you. You need to be on stage in three minutes and you’re not even fully dressed.” Rasher yanks his hands out of Slink’s grasp and shoves him. “If you can come back to life, you can do your fucking job, too.”

Slink’s squeak barely interrupts Rasher’s tirade. “I am  _ not _ done with you. You gonna explain to me what other magic ass bullshit you got going on.”

Rasher spins and leaves, boots heavy on the thin metal steps.

Outside, Rasher shivers, full of whiplash. “Fuck you. I hate this.”

 

\---

 

Slink finds Rasher sitting on the offloaded body of the Pacer. It’s a little worse for wear, the roof crushed in and several windows gone like popped bubbles. He sits beside him, brushing glass aside and kicking his legs over the mangled bumper.

“You want me to explain myself.”

Rasher nods tightly. “Yeah.”

“I’m on of Heart’s many  _ many _ lab experiments and basement dwelling monsters. I'm the one who got away. ” Slink grins with too many teeth. “I am extremely durable and when my body is killed, I wake up in a new one.”

Rasher slouches further, curling around his crossed arms. “How many do you have? How many bodies?”

Slink shrugs. “As many as I want.”

Rasher parses this in silence for a while. “How old are you?”

Slink blinks. “Three or four years, give or take a few hundred deaths. Time gets hazy when I die really frequently.”

“ _ What _ .”

He mimics the disbelief. “ _ What?  _ Being killed is a traumatic experience.”

“Fuck you.” Rasher says abruptly. “Fuck you for thinking that it only effects you. And for leaving me with your bastard child of a roadshow.”

Rasher hops off the hood of the car and strides into the night before either of them can say anything else. Slink stares wonderingly after him. There’s nothing like this in his memories, legacy or otherwise and he feels like he’s falling.


End file.
